


Possession

by Jejunus (JejuneSins)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Blood, Bodyswap, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JejuneSins/pseuds/Jejunus
Summary: It’s happened again—Joan and Joshua Graham have switched bodies, and this time Joan is damned and determined to get what she wants.This is a sequel to my previous bodyswap fic, Twisted, although it is not necessary to read that one before this one. Please enjoy!
Relationships: Female Courier/Joshua Graham
Kudos: 18





	Possession

Possession

_My body aches to breathe your breath_

Joshua Graham straightened his arm out, extending his fingers as far as they could reach, and they trailed across the cool sand of the cove in a wide, sleepy arc. His mouth stretched open in a silent yawn, which cut off prematurely as he swept his arm across the sand again—the grains tickled the underside of his arm, a few granules sticking to the soft patch of skin that comprised the inside of his elbow. He opened his eyes and was on the verge of letting out a surprised exclamation when a rough hand seized his other arm, abruptly yanking him out of the sleeping bag he was nestled into.

_Sleeping bag?_ , he dimly registered as the blurred earth and sky whirled around him as he was pulled backward and over something much larger than himself. He was blinking furiously, trying to get the sleep that blinded him out of his eyes when the fullness of the situation struck him—a bellow rose in his throat and a calloused, bandaged hand clapped over his mouth just in time to prevent it.

“ _Quiet, quiet_ ,” Joan hushed him, her bandaged face mere inches from his own, close enough that he could see his own blue eyes staring back at him, round with both surprise and anticipation; he immediately began to struggle in her broad arms. She hugged him to her— _his_ —chest, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other pressed into his shoulder blades, driving their bodies together. Dread set into the pit of his stomach.

“It happened again,” Joan whispered in his voice, deep and still gravelly with sleep. Over his own broad shoulder, he could see the jet black of the night sky hanging over the camp. There wasn’t even any trace of the campfire he had lit the night before. It was well before dawn.

Joan had pulled back from him, and he looked at her face. His own face, nearly totally obscured with ghostly white bandages. His eyes were bright as they ever were, but something unnaturally keen and dark lurked behind his pupils. Impulsively, he recoiled away from her with disgust.

Joan hushed him again, staring at him with intensity, the same foul intensity that she had punctured into him the last time this had transpired. Without hesitation, she let the hand that wasn’t mashed against his mouth race down his spine. For a moment Joshua felt something akin to hope—its embers were swiftly dashed, like a campfire being doused with water, as the hand passed over his ass and went down to his thigh. Joshua thrashed in her arms as her hand came perilously close to brushing the area between his— _her_ —legs.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Joan whispered sharply, with enough authority that Joshua was caught off guard for a moment and blinked at her. His brows were sharply angled with rage, but she didn’t seem to care; Joshua didn’t care either, and opened his mouth as wide as he could before slamming his teeth together, managing to pinch a portion of the skin and bandages on her hand between them. She jerked her hand back and hissed, shaking it as though she was trying to fling droplets of water off of it.

Joshua opened his mouth again, this time to let out a noise, a scream, a shout; anything that might alert the Dead Horses of his predicament. Just in time to stop him, Joan slapped her hand against his face again, with such force that his lips snapped against his teeth, causing his bottom lip to split. His face scrunched in pain and she looked surprised for a split second before rearranging her hand across his mouth, still crushing it, but with slightly less force.

“Shut up,” she started, speaking with low intensity. “You know this is going to happen. Just like last time, you can’t stop it—don’t fight me, and just accept it.”

Joshua’s dark brown eyes squeezed into slits and he stared at her as hatefully as he could manage. She looked unimpressed, which only served to enrage him further; he tried to pry his arms from where they were crushed to her chest, desperately clawing for any part of her that he could reach. Joan released his thigh and instead seized his hands, her burned fingers circling both wrists with ease. She bore down and he hissed, the narrow bones of Joan’s wrists grinding against each other.

“I said _stop it_ ,” she reiterated hotly before pausing. Her eyes lit up with an idea; her face was as readable as his own bible, even obscured as it was with bandages.

“You have to stop,” she said. His voice had a smug matter-of-fact tone that he never would have used of his own accord. It was disgustingly alien. “Like I said, this is going to happen whether you want it to or not—do you really want to wake up the entire camp like this? I know the Dead Horses look up to you, but do you think even _they’ll_ stand by and just watch you hold down a woman and do what you want to her?”

Joshua halted, his eyes widening.

For as alien as her face had looked a moment ago, it now looked terribly familiar—his blue eyes were narrowed with cruel triumph, the corners bowed with the smile that must be slashed across her face under the bandages.

“You let me do what I want to do, and you walk away from this unharmed and untarnished.”

It was a despicable play, something he sooner would have expected from the likes of that snake, Vulpes Inculta. For a moment, his blue eyes almost had the catlike edge of his old Frumentarius’s, cruel and calculating. She was willing to get her way by any means necessary, even if it meant risking the entire camp falling on her and beating her half to death. Never even mind the irreparable blow that would deal to his reputation as their leader: they would never be able to look at him the same. Even if they could guess that he had done similar things in his past life in the Legion, he had long preached that no such actions were acceptable today. They would surely think he had regressed to the monster he once was.

Bile rose in his throat; he _was_ a monster again, even if it was just his own skin, being puppeted by the small, fragile woman he had once considered something like a companion. For a moment hot emotion welled up inside of him, and he was surprised to feel the corners of his eyes burning.

Joan did not mirror his emotional turmoil—if she felt remorse for this at all, it was carefully concealed behind the mask of bandages.

“Are you going to let me do this?” she asked quietly, before taking a risk and cautiously pulling her hand away from his mouth. Small dots of blood were saturated into the bandages on her palm. Joshua did not move, but instead looked up at her, their eyes locking.

“ **I’m going to kill you** ,” Joshua said, his voice low and hoarse. He had been a fool to forgive her and let her walk away last time—that was a mistake he would not make again. His eyes burned into hers with such intensity that Joan withdrew almost imperceptibly—she looked nervous for a second, her face suddenly morphing into the shy young woman that she truly was. But still, he didn’t resist—he lay rigidly and obligingly in her arms, providing no further fight.

Joan looked uncertain—almost frightened—for a moment longer, before her expression flattened.

“We’re both going to hell, so I may as well get my cap’s worth,” she said stiffly. Joshua said nothing in return. _You would look at this as transactionally as possible_ , he thought with a duller, jaded kind of anger.

Joan huffed, as though she had read his mind—her long, thin face had always been far more open and expressive than his own. He met her eyes again to drive the point home—there was no point in concealing the true nature of his thoughts.

Joan seemed to be on the verge of rebutting this when her expression shifted again, causing Joshua’s stomach to shift along with it—she was determined to get what she wanted, and it was time to collect. Her eyes relaxed as she pulled him to her chest again in an embrace, shielding him from the rest of the camp with her back to the now extinguished fire. Her free hand found its way between their bodies, and this time she skimmed her fingertips down the front of him. It dawned on him then that he wasn’t as dressed as he had been last time: this time he was wearing only the thin grey undergarments that Joan wore beneath her suit and tie. The muscles in her stomach shivered as Joan’s rough hand passed over his belly—her skin was sensitive, more than he could ever recall his own being, even before he had been burnt. Even the most minute brush of his own broad, bandaged fingers elicited waves of gooseflesh along his arms and thighs.

Now that Joan had his compliance, she seemed content to go slower this time; she let her hand wander down his body, passing by the junction of her legs to caress her thighs, massaging into the muscle before moving inward towards the softer, thinner skin. Joshua stared at the underside of the lean-to and thought about how he had tucked himself in earlier that night, still in his own clothes and bandages, in his _own_ flesh, his mind where it was supposed to be; when all had been right with the world. He pressed his eyes closed.

His chest hitched as Joan’s fingertips finally brushed between his thighs—they massaged the outside of her underwear, working at him through the fabric in slow, almost lazy, kneading motions. His jaw tensed.

In the darkness it was as though his every other sense—already so much more keen in her body than his own—was amplified, almost painfully so. Joan had propped herself up on one elbow, one hand continuing to work between his legs, the other delicately supporting his neck. His own calloused thumb was trailing circles in the small hollow under the sharp corner of Joan’s jaw. His breathing had grown somewhat labored, although he worked to suppress it, to give no outward sign of the unwanted pleasure coursing through the body he was inhabiting.

_Disgusting_ , he thought with repugnance. How much must she have touched herself to know her body so well. How many times must she have rutted against her own hand like a stinking animal, too consumed with pleasures of the flesh to give a thought for the world around her. No wonder she thrived in New Vegas—she was the self-appointed Queen of Sin.

Joan’s hand briefly parted from him, but it was only to slide upwards, her long fingertips pushing under the waistband of his undergarments, so that the pads of her fingers could fully meet the flesh between his legs, skin to skin. Joshua shuddered silently, ignoring the slick noises erupting from below his hips. Joan made no effort to conceal her own heavy breathing, only partially muffled by the bandages over her mouth. For a few minutes she continued this, devouring him with her eyes, keenly scanning for each hitch of his narrow chest, every time his fingers involuntarily curled into the furs, each arching of his pale foot.

Joshua had twisted his head, staring hazily at the canyon wall his lean-to was propped against. The sensations still caused him to shiver, but they had begun to shrink, his body acclimating to what she was doing. Joan must has sensed this.

Joshua couldn’t prevent a small jolt as damp lips met his throat, and Joan gave him a small, satisfied chuckle, sounding almost unnervingly like the real Joshua Graham. She had pulled back the bandages at her lips and met the side of his throat with her mouth, licking at the area underneath his jaw, just below his ear. She still worked slowly and deliberately as her mouth yawned open, clamping her teeth against his flesh.

Joshua wanted to be revolted by this; in his own skin he would never have tolerated another human being to lap at him, like a dog enthusiastically licking its owner’s hand. But he was not in his own skin—Joan’s skin had lit up as brilliantly as a clear night sky under the full moon, each brush of his tongue seeming to electrify her. She bit down on him again and he only just barely managed to suppress a moan from deep within his chest as his hips bucked up into her hand. He felt coarse denim dig into his thigh at this, grinding against him as Joan expelled the moan he had managed to suppress.

Tension raced up the sides of Joshua’s face and into his temples as Joan ground herself against his hip again—she was as hard as stone beneath his jeans, frotting and jerking against him with abandon. He swallowed as he recalled the last time she had subjected him to himself—he had not been able to so much as look below his waistband for weeks afterward, let alone handle himself for anything more than bathing or urination.

The tension in his jaw reached a crescendo as he heard the familiar smooth sound of his fly coming down; he hadn’t even noticed that Joan had finally pulled her hand from between his legs. Against his better judgement, he looked down—she had him fully in her hand, clumsily working up and down the shaft. His eyes flicked upward, and for a surreal moment he was seized with the urge to laugh—Joan’s eyebrows were slanted quizzically as she ran her fingertips up and down the length of him, seemingly puzzled at the lack of sensation. She had no idea how to pleasure a man with her hands.

At this revelation, Joshua couldn’t suppress a snort, and Joan’s eyes jerked to his face, startled and then swiftly embarrassed. Her hand halted; for a moment he had won.

They stared at each other as the moment of victory dragged on, and Joshua studied his own face, what little of it he could see. Joan’s shy, haughty personality danced behind his pupils as she seemed to war between immature humiliation and vengeful anger. He wasn’t terribly surprised when she grabbed his hand—her own hand, small and delicate, even with the stripe of knotted scarring that adorned its forefinger—and dragged it to her groin, forcing his fingers around himself.

“Fine then,” she said. Her voice managed to be shrill despite its baritone depth. “ _You_ do it.”

Joshua’s hand dangled limply around himself, and his expression settled back into a stony wall.

“No.”

Again, he might have laughed to see the look on his own face, so drastically out of character as his eyebrows shot up with petulant surprise, like a spoiled child who had been denied a Fancy Lads cake. Worry soon settled into his stomach as he watched the gears behind her eyes work, however—her threat to make him into the monster he once had been was still fresh.

Fortunately, Joan didn’t seem to want to reiterate that threat—instead, she wrapped her fingers around his and pumped their hands together up and down his shaft. Though he provided no assistance, it seemed the additional grip helped her figure out that the skin needed to slide up and down as well, instead of just the fingers on top of it. She curled inward toward him and hissed through her teeth with pleasure as clear fluid leaked from his tip, dribbling over his fingers. Whatever fleeting victory Joshua had felt dissipated into nothingness—although he was at least grateful that she seemed content to settle for his hand, instead of one of her various other holes.

She leaned into him, stroking herself with vigor now that she understood how to, and Joshua continued to limply lie beside her, his hand still clutched within hers, as lifeless as that of a puppet. This persisted for only a minute or two longer before she pulled back, her eyes unfocused and hazy.

“ _Jesus_ ,” she breathed. Joshua wrinkled his nose and scowled at her.

“Sorry,” she said reflexively, letting his hand go and taking several deep and measured breaths, clearly trying to pull herself back from the edge. Joshua’s eyes flicked down to his cock; even in the darkness he could see how deeply flushed with blood it was, fluid welling up into thick beads on the tip before quivering and running down its length.

If this was anything like last time, then all she needed to do was finish, and they would be returned to their own bodies. And then _he_ would finish—for a fleeting instant he fantasized about being himself once again: he saw himself straddling her and clenching his bandaged fists around her slender white throat, he could _feel_ the lump of her larynx before crushing it under his thumb, rendering her incapable of so much as whimpering, let alone speaking in that obnoxiously smug voice. He wasn’t opposed to drawing out her death and making it something that Edward himself might have been proud of, but thirst for revenge was too strong. He wanted to finish it alright, finish her and—

His thoughts abruptly cut off as Joan’s hand found itself between his thighs again, and he snapped his teeth together to silence of shrill moan that nearly escaped him.

“I’m not ready to be done yet,” Joan whispered to him, bending over him and placing her mouth by his throat once more. “If you’re really going to kill me, then I want to hear you first. You never did give me anything last time.”

Joshua’s face pinched as Joan’s mouth met his throat once more, her fingers stroking him again. There was no denying the abundance of slickness that had gathered between his legs as he fantasized about killing her. Using the butt of her palm, she ground against him as she finally entered him with her fingers, massaging him from the inside. Joshua inhaled deeply, still determined to deny her what she most wanted.

Joan studied him carefully as she worked—as much as he tried to conceal it, it was obvious that her actions were having at least _some_ effect on him, judging by the twin diamond studs of his erect nipples, cast in harsh relief against the fabric of the undergarments he was wearing.

The flesh of Joshua’s belly rippled with tension as he fought to retain control over the body that wasn’t his—he was drawing close, yet still he refused to give in. He tensed his thighs repeatedly in the hopes of dispelling the feeling, but it seemed to do nothing more than increase the squeezing sensation growing between his legs; it felt as though a hungry maw had sprung up there instead, desperate to be filled, over and over and over again.

His face reddened with shame at the thought, and as though Joan had read his mind again, she pulled her hand away, leaving him empty and starving as she sat back away from him.

_It’s coming_ , he thought, simultaneously fraught with disgust and need. He opened his eyes to look at her, to see his fate approach, and was taken aback.

Joan had slid down his body, repositioning herself between his thighs and staring determinedly at the join between his legs. Irrationally shyly, he moved to close them against her, but she pried them back apart with ease before drawing her hand to her mouth and further loosening the bandages around it until her lips were fully visible.

With horror, it dawned on him what she was about to do.

“No!” he objected, his voice shrill and brittle, piercing the still night air. Joan’s eyes jerked up to his, her brows lowered with intensity as she hushed him, tugging down his grey underwear with practiced ease. It gathered around his ankle in a limp bunch.

“ _No_ ,” he reiterated much more quietly this time, his face brilliantly red with fury and humiliation. “That’s too far, I would _never_ —”

His voice gave out in a shrill wheeze as her tongue brushed between his thighs, a more intimate kiss than he had ever given any human being in his life. His back arched off the furs as his toes curled painfully, and a deep, rasping moan cutting the air between them as his head involuntarily flew back.

He didn’t need to peer down to see the expression on Joan’s face as she looked up, savagely victorious. Joshua brought both of her hands to his mouth, but it was far too late—she had heard it, and if any of the Dead Horses were awake, they surely had too.

“ _God_ , no,” he sighed miserably between her fingers before they clenched into twin fists as Joan’s tongue met him again in another torturously long, slow lick. It was as though she had decided that whatever she did to his neck must feel twice as good down there, and she wasn’t wrong: each caress of her tongue caused his body to erupt in gooseflesh, the soles of his feet burning as they twisted and curled.

Joshua had not often allowed slaves to service him with their mouths during his time as Edward’s Legate—even beyond their questionable hygiene, it seemed highly inadvisable to put his cock near anything that was sharp and prone to thoughts of revenge. Still, he had permitted himself to enjoy it a handful of times over the years, but no encounter of oral sex had ever come close to the raw intensity he was experiencing now. He hadn’t even truly believed that women _could_ feel much of anything down there, given how they tended to just passively lay and accept whatever was happening to them.

How wrong he was.

Thin, muffled whimpers tore their way through his clasped fingers as Joan continued to work. She had drawn her face closer to him, and now her entire mouth was latched over herself, one palm bearing against each thigh, pushing them apart. Joshua couldn’t even pretend not to react anymore—his breath seemed to shotgun out of his chest, the hard ground beneath the furs digging into his tailbone as his back arched repeatedly.

“ _Oh God… Jesus, please_ ,” he moaned, his eyes screwed furiously shut, not caring that he was taking the Lord’s name in vain. The pleasure between his thighs was reaching a frenzied pitch, so intense that it almost seemed to burn, walking the dagger’s edge between agony and bliss, heaven and hell. In response to this, Joan pulled out all the stops; her palms clenched around his ass as she fully buried her face between his thighs, strained grunts of her own coming out muffled from between them.

Joshua slammed his hands against the ground as his back arched again, concave this time as his spine rose fully off the furs, his stomach clenching fiercely as orgasm seemed to all but rip through him, as savage and depraved as a demon. He cried out, hoarse and shuddering as the sensation went on and on, seeming to never end. His calves seized up as well, his cries giving way to shudders and gasps as the muscles in his forearms trembled. Finally, he collapsed back against the furs, his chest heaving, black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Joan’s chest heaved, her eyes blurry and unfocused on the figure in front of her as air shakily exited her mouth in short, erratic bursts. Her stomach immediately knotted in tense anticipation, as Joshua’s threat blazed to the forefront of her mind. She squeezed her eyes closed, her hands curling into anxious fists as she waited for the inevitable blow, the inescapable hand seizing around her arm or her throat. She waited.

Slowly she opened her eyes and looked up. Joshua was staring back at her, his wet and red ringed eyes brimming with such incredulous outrage that they appeared to be solidly black instead of deep brown.

They had not switched back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> Title song is Possession - Sarah McLachlan


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